


Veninum

by Ruby_Wednesday



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug-Induced Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP, set during book one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the foiled attack in Laurent's rooms, Damen doesn't leave.  </p><p>For Captive Prince Week Day Seven and the prompt <i>What if?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Veninum

**Author's Note:**

> TW: This is set during book one, when the power dynamics were all skewy and Laurent's under the influence of the 'pleasure drug', so there are issues with consent. I feel I've written it as consensual, but you might feel differently so please be aware if that would be troubling for you.
> 
> NSFW
> 
>  _Veninum_ from the latin for poison.

_But Laurent's only reply was a breath of laughter, which strangely showed more than anything just how close to the edge he was._

“Go, then.”

Damen stopped. He thought about what he had just witnessed. Lies stacked on lies stacked on schemes stacked on murderous plots. Laurent, he knew, had genuinely been attacked and drugged in his own apartment. Damen knew the soul-shattering helplessness such an attack could cause. 

But that was not what made him stop. He was a soldier, trained and successful, and he had learned many years ago (perhaps on the field at Marlas) when to set aside empathy and do what needed to be done. He could leave here without regret. He had behaved with honour by not co-operating with the Akielon assassins. He did not hesitate because the desperate tone to Laurent's voice drummed up sympathy inside him. That would be like having sympathy for a rattlensnake, right before it struck. 

Damen stopped because he knew more about treachery now than he had before. The knowledge that began to form that awful night in Ios had grown tenfold during his time in Vere. Every moment in this corrupt court was a lesson in corruption. 

And Laurent had shown he was capable of subverting plans to his own advantage. If he said go, Damen thought he should probably do the opposite. Laurent's uncle would not let him kill Damen, he wouldn't even tolerate torture, but if the slave publicly attempted to escape no-one could let that go unpunished. 

That would please Laurent, Damen thought, to have his perception of Damen proven to the court.

 _Filthy painted slut._

Laurent had provoked him before. 

“Why are you not moving?” Laurent's voice was carefully controlled. His head was still against the wall, his eyelids little more than slits. 

“It's not long until dawn.”

“Daylight will not aid your escape,” Laurent replied. “Considering your size, the shadows of the palace won't do much in that department either. Is it normal for men in Akielos to be so oversized or is it just soldiers?” An odd tug dragged at Laurent's mouth. Usually taut and disapproving, his lips were currently slack and almost amused. “Perhaps they put something in the water.”

“Something in the water.” Damen looked again at the goblet. 

“Why are you still here?” Laurent pushed himself away from the wall. You could see the rise and fall of his chest beneath the expensive white shirt. “Why are you...”

“I am a patient man,” Damen said. “It just occurred to me that I've seen how you hunt. I don't care for the idea of being chased down like prey by you or your uncle's men.”

“Hunting,” Laurent said. “Yes. Yes. You really have no idea, brute, how I hunt. Nor do you have any idea about me if you think I would waste my time pursuing the –“ He broke off. Again, Damen wondered how he was controlled at all after being dosed with the pleasure drug. “But my uncle would delight in it. You could be just what he wants to complete the puzzle. Guilty men run. Hungry men chase. You poor fool, imagine how it would pain you when he marches on your country. He'd cut you down until he got his hands on the bastard king and cut him, too.”

Damen took a step closer. The muscles in Laurent's jaw twitched. It was as if his neck was having trouble keeping his head straight.

“You hate Akielons.”

“I do.”

“But you don't want your uncle to go to war with them.”

Laurent blinked. Every time he closed his eyes, he struggled to open them again. “Do you?”

“Of course I don't want your uncle to wage war on my people.”

“If you were at home,” Laurent said. “Wouldn't you want to fight Vere?”

“Not for no reason.” Damen took another step. Closer, he could see the night sky through the loggia. Closer, he could see the pitch-black circles of Laurent's pupils dilated wide as the moon at its fullest. “Not at all, if it could be avoided.”

His father would want to fight Vere. He would want to ground them into the dust. 

But his father was dead.

“Stay back,” Laurent said. Damen stilled. He held his hands in front of him. “You could kill me without breaking a sweat.”

“I could. I could do it any time, if I had a death wish myself. I don't fancy a visit to the chopping block.”

“You could kill me.” Then, in a different voice. “You could end this.” Another, shaky voice. “This is much stronger than I anticipated.”

Damen felt his forehead crease. “You don't want....”

A strange knocking on the door ended that sentence that had no ending. It rang out hollow as fists but without the strength behind it.

“Don't let anyone in,” Laurent said. “My instructions were clear.” Already, he was standing straighter. His voice was clearer.

Damen realised his new duties extended to acting as door attendant.

“The prince has ordered these rooms --” He stopped. It was not a guard or servant at the door. 

It was Nicaise, barefaced and barefoot. Nicaise in frilly bedclothes, huge eyes wide looking up at Damen.

“You don't tell me what to do,” Nicaise spat.  
Damen glanced back to see what Laurent wanted to do. These two had a bond that Damen could not begin to dissect. Nicaise used that momentary distraction, to duck under Damen's legs.

“Come to investigate?” Laurent asked, casually sitting back on the reclining sofa and pulling one knee up to his chin. 

“Someone woke us. They said there was an attack.”

“Does that upset you?”

“No.”

“I mean to see that I am whole, hale and hearty,” Laurent said. “There was no attack. Just a barbarian dispute.”

Nicaise glowered at Laurent. He glowered at Damen. 

Damen regretted not escaping when he had the chance. More lies. It made no sense for Laurent to hide the attack. It was not to protect Damen, as his word of Damen's assistance was enough to clear his name. Princes had that power. Usually. The Regent had shown himself to be, at best, skeptical of Laurent's words, and disdainful of his deeds. 

“I don't care,” Nicaise said. “You could be raped and murdered and I wouldn't shed a tear for you.”

“Go back to bed then.”

“He's sending for you soon,” Nicaise said, but his tone was not the gleefully tormenting one he had shown during Torveld's visit. It nearly sounded like a warning. “I'm going back to sleep. This room is disgusting. You're sweating and I can still smell the blood in the carpet..”

He left. Damen closed the door. 

“If they let Nicaise through, my uncle's men won't be kept at bay either,” Laurent said, lowering his leg again, extending it straight in front of him. “I can't...like this.”

“Why are you lying to your uncle? He's family? Can you not --”

“I did not give you leave to question me, slave,” Laurent spat. “Do you know so much about family now? Are yours so perfect that --” He stopped. His expression changed and Damen was reminded of the first time Laurent had woken him in the middle of the night. Frustration and boredom and a capability for cruelty did not a kind master make. “Kneel,” he said.

“You're in no position to give orders right now.”

“Kneel,” Laurent said. “The story can change. Would you like a set of matching scars on your front?”

Damen knelt. 

He said, “I can still overpower you.”

Laurent said. “But you won't.”  
He walked a slow circle around Damen, lingering at his back where the barely-healed scars were vivid on his back.

“A pleasure drug in your veins and you're looking at your handiwork,” Damen said, while his heart pounded a drum beat inside of his chest. Not fear. Something else. “Maybe that Ancel was right about your preferences.”

“Preferences,” Laurent said, coming to face Damen again. “As far as anyone knows I have none. And, you, slave are getting too mouthy for my liking. Perhaps I should gag you. With a bit, like when you were whipped. Or one of those ball gags, like a pet. ”

“You can do as you wish,” Damen said. 

“You can leave.”

“I didn't leave,” Damen said. 

Laurent closed his eyes. “You are my slave. Your – Kastor send you here as my bed slave.”

“Not Kastor.” Damen remembered the slave baths. _Yours hides the bruising._ “Jokaste.”

“Your lover,” Lauren said. The word sounded wrong on his lips. “The new king's whore.” That word sounded right. Laurent had a mouth for filthy words. His face was so angelic. It balanced out. It shocked you, if shocks could be pleasant. “Sent you to be a whore.”

“I'm not the one gagging for it,” Damen said. He couldn't keep his words in check when it came to Laurent. For all that he needed to be rational, sensible, maybe even indulge in a little martyrdom for the sake of returning to Akielos, Laurent brought the irrational out in him. 

“I'm not gagging for anything,” Laurent snapped. “Unlike you, I can control myself. If you had been wiser at the baths your back wouldn't be ribbons.”

“The body reacts,” Damen said. “It's what you do with the reaction that matters. I never --” He stopped. He was not willing to explain himself to Laurent. “As you know, I don't rape. And as we both know, you would have found another reason to tear my back to shreds. It was just lucky that I--”

“Go on.”

“No.”

“Follow my order, slave.” Laurent began another slow circuit around Damen's kneeling form. 

“This is not how you're going to work out that drug in your system,” Damen said. He remembered being tethered in the garden. He remembered how Laurent liked to lord things over him. 

“My uncle will send for me soon. I'll have to face the council,” Laurent said. Damen could not see him. He could feel Laurent's eyes like ice on the back of his neck. “I can't...” His voice was strangled now. “Face them like this.”

_A stronger dose led from virility to abandonment._

But Laurent was hardly abandoned. He was a young man, heir to this debauched court, pulled from his bed in the middle of the night. It would not be so strange for him to have dilated pupils and a sway to his step. 

Damen thought of other things. How Laurent was restraint personified in this land of indulgence. How he never gave into the courtship. How all the courtiers had expressed disappointment at his lack of participation in their games. Laurent laced into midnight blue clothes, a contrast to the red of his uncle regent. Laurent who disliked paint and had no pets. 

Until Damen. 

There was every chance Laurent's hatred of Akielos spurred him to act in ways he would not normally. 

The truth emerged alongside the edge to Laurent's voice : the Prince of Vere had formed his character around disassociating himself with the open wantonness of the court here. He had kept himself strapped down, iced over, carefully and frigidly alone.

Damen did not understand the reasons but he understood that for Laurent to appear in public under the influence of the pleasure drug would be a wholly destructive for him.

A little part of Damen could revel in that small torture. After all, Laurent had thought nothing of the whip, of Ancel, of Govart in the ring. None of those things had been pleasant for Damen. Laurent had revelled in Damen's humiliation. 

But Damen was different.

He said, “I'll wait outside.”

“You do not leave without my instruction.”

Laurent was really going to make him spell it out. 

“I'll wait outside,” Damen said. He pointed to the door. “Right there. I won't let anyone in, not even your uncle while --”

“Stop talking,” Laurent said. 

“What?” That stupid boldness emerged within Damen again. “Do you require instruction?”

“I can't --” His voice cracked.

Damen was bold enough to turn his head. Still kneeling, he was level with Laurent's waist. It behoved a slave to lower his eyes when facing his master. Damen saw, through the restrictive Veretian trousers, that Laurent was unmistakably physically aroused. He raised his gaze, saw the deep flush on his skin and glossiness that coated his dark, dark eyes.

“You can't --” Damen began. “Yourself.”

A muscle slid in Laurent's jaw. He did not deny it. 

_It doesn't work, what he has._

Damen's head spun. He cast aside the obvious concerns, because Laurent's personal well-being was not his concern, and thought of other things. The strange violence that had surged within him the moment he came in Ancel's mouth. The thought of Laurent – cruel, controlled Laurent – betraying himself at Damen's behest was very intriguing indeed. 

What would it make Damen? 

What did it matter?

He had kissed Laurent's boot. He had been taken from his palace as a slave. He had been...prepared and fought off rape. 

He was still the same person.

“There are,” he said. “Plenty of pets in the palace would service you.”

“I'm not a broken down wagon,” Laurent spat. “I don't require servicing.”

“What do you require?” Damen asked, quietly, honestly. He raised his chin and look Laurent in the eye.

“You are my bed slave,” Laurent said. “But you have not been near my bed.”

“Slaves only do as they are told,” Damen said. “In Akielos, it is the highest honour for a slave to serve the king.” He felt the tone in his own voice change as one feels warm water envelop their body sliding into a bath. 

“There is no king in Akielos. Unless you accept the bastard on the throne.”

“I do not,” Damen said. “There is no king in Vere, either.”

“You are my slave,” Laurent said. 

“I'm stronger than you,” Damen said. “I could have left.”

“But you didn't. And I already owe you for saving my life. Why not add a little more to the tally?” A new expression passed across Laurent's face. Resolve. Acceptance. In impossible situations, they were the same thing. “Open your mouth,” he said.

“You've still got your pants on.”

“I don't--” Laurent inhaled deeply. He walked around Damen again and retrieved the goblet from the table. With his elegant index finger, Laurent swiped the inside of the cup. “Open your mouth,” he said.

Damen complied. And then Laurent's finger was in his mouth, and the taste of the pleasure drug was on his tongue. Their eyes met. The gaze held. Laurent held his finger between Damen's lips, as if it was a warning, and Damen grazed the length of it, knuckle and bone with his teeth.

“It's not necessary,” he said.

“I prefer to be on equal footing.” 

“Master and slave.”

“Something like that,” Laurent said. His eyes were glazed, still. “What else do slaves do in Akielos?”

“Submit,” Damen said, while he rose to his feet. He was taller than Laurent. Broader. Stronger. His body was already singing with tension from this strange night. The drug probably didn't take effect right away but he felt like it already had. “But I was not a slave in Akielos, as you know. I only became one here.”

Laurent stepped back. His face was wary now. 

Damen remembered the baths. 

“I won't hurt you,” he said. 

A bitter laugh bubbled out of Laurent's mouth. “My dear brute,” he said. “You say the stupidest things.”

“I won't,” Damen said. “I'm not like that. I know your feelings on my country but --”

“Enough,” said Laurent. He looked over his shoulder. “It's going to be bright soon.”

“Not that soon,” said Damen. He stepped closer. Laurent held his ground. Another step. 

Laurent said, “Don't touch me.”

“Was this a ploy to bring me to the same state as you?”

“No. Just --” Laurent gave his head a little shake. The blond locks fell over his face. Laurent blew one away. 

Damen took another step. A slow step. He held his hands out in front of him. It felt very important to telegraph his intentions. Survival instinct, perhaps. Or maybe that just seemed like something Laurent needed. Damen knew his reputation. Knew his inexperience. He stretched his hand toward Laurent, meaning to touch him somewhere non-threatening. His shoulder, perhaps. Maybe the back of his neck.

Laurent dodged him and flopped back onto the reclining couch. 

“Do you want this?” Damen said.

“Want...I've been drugged.” Laurent closed his eyes. Opened them again. Gave Damen a look made of fire. “You're my slave,” he said.

“Then instruct me.”

“I thought your kind didn't need instruction,” Laurent said. “Shouldn't you be kicking my legs apart and mounting by now?”

“Is that your instruction?” Damen asked. Laurent did not respond. “Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”

“But--”

“Yes,” Laurent said. He slipped his finger, still damp from Damen's mouth, between the collar and his neck. “Without this, of course.”

He tugged on Damen's flimsy clothes and they fell to the ground.

“Open your trousers,” Damen said.

Laurent's nimble fingers separated the laces. 

“Make me come,” Laurent said. “Get it done.”

Damen tried to think of it as assertion, when he slipped his hand inside Laurent's soft trousers. He was just him. He was going to enjoy watching Laurent fall apart at his touch. He was good. He knew he was good at this.

Good, when it wasn't empty. Good, when his partner didn't look like he would rather die than be touched by him.

Without invitation, Damen sat beside Laurent on the couch. He felt the expensive fabric caress his naked thighs. He noticed, in an abstract sense, his growing hardness jutting up from between his legs. The floral scent wafting in through the window. The luminosity of Laurent's pale skin. 

The drug was definitely taking effect. 

Like most things Damen faced, he just went with it.

He stretched his left arm along the back of the couch, close to Laurent's shoulder. 

“Tell me how you like it,” he said, huskily, in Laurent's ear. “You liked to talk in the garden.” Beneath his hand, under the fall of the white shirt and the loosened trousers, Laurent was hot and hard. 

“You heard me,” Laurent said. “Make me come.”

Damen gripped him as hard as he would have gripped himself. Laurent sucked air in through his teeth.

“Like that, sweetheart?” Damen asked

“No talking.”

“I think you like talking.” Damen skimmed his nose along the veins in Laurent's neck. 

“I'd rather not listen to your voice, brute.” Laurent was breathing very fast now. Damen was working his cock with rough precision. He took sick pleasure in the conflict on Laurent's face. He counted it a victory when Laurent's head fell back against the couch, against his arm and the soft hair tickled his muscles.

With this much drug in his system, it wouldn't take long. Laurent would come. Damen would know he had brought him off and there might be a little taste of victory in that. Laurent breathed fast. He did not moan or grunt or make any sound but that which came from his lungs. His body was still. The ripple of a muscle, the hitch of a breath were the only things that indicated he was feeling this at all. Damen wanted him to feel it. 

He slowed his hand, teasing, meaning to annoy Laurent but instead saw his mouth fall open and felt the roll of his hips. 

“You like it slow, your highness.”

“I told you not to talk.”

“You told me to make you come,” Damen said, lips at his ear again, hand hardly moving. Laurent's hips shifted again, a slow thrust into the grip of Damen's sword-calloused palm. “You like this.”

“I _hate_ this.” Laurent whipped his head towards Damen. They were nose to nose. Kissing distance. Damen had never touched someone so intimately without kissing them before. He wanted to kiss Laurent, he realised. He wanted an outlet for all this energy between them. 

He also thought Laurent might bite his tongue off he tried.

Damen held his ground. He did not pull away. He continued his unhurried strokes and looked into those blue eyes. The same breath passed back and forth between their mouths. 

Laurent had not removed any clothing. But Damen remembered the baths and felt the straining hardness under his hands. It was not hard at all to imagine how Laurent's cock would look now. He could feel his want, leaking sweetly from the tip, aiding the slow slide.

Laurent was close. It was all over his face. Any minute now, Damen could see him fall apart.

He waited.

Felt it build, then peter out like a snuffed candle. Laurent turned his head.

A deep flush stained his cheeks. Damen nearly felt them glow.

“I have,” Laurent said. “Issues with control.”

“So I see.” Damen withdrew his hand. “You could have warned me.”

“I did.” He let out a breath. “I think you made it worse.”

Damen softened his voice. “I can make it better. If you want.” He didn't really know what he was offering. His original offer hadn't gone further than this. A fantasy flared : Laurent in his mouth, him on his knees, bringing himself to completion all over the carpet or maybe those shiny black boots.

Laurent snorted. “My saviour has come.”

“Neither of us have come, sweetheart.” Damen was bold again. Need made him bold. Without the distraction of touching Laurent, his own arousal was a needful thing. “Can you imagine what they'd say if they walked in on us now.”

“They?”

“You don't want to face anyone like this,” Damen said. “Tell me your pleasure. After all, that's why Kastor sent me here.”

“You said it was Jokaste.”

“Which one of them has the power though,” Damen asked. 

“Power,” Laurent repeated. Of course he jumped on that word. “As a concept, I find it lacking.”

“Your uncle holds it. He will send for you soon.”

“I do not want to talk about my uncle.” Laurent swallowed. Hard. “Stand, slave.”

Damen stood. It left him in interesting position. Standing. Facing Laurent, who was sitting. Who was eye level with his cock, which was standing too.

“Don't get any ideas,” Laurent said, sharp. He stood, too, awkwardly, holding his pants up with one hand. “Follow me,” he said.

“To the bed?”

“Did you not hear me when I said don't get any ideas?” Laurent walked around to the back of the couch. He braced himself on the backrest. “Fetch some oil.”

Damen felt as if he was in a waking, walking dream. This was happening. 

This could not be happening. 

“Where do you keep it?”

Laurent blinked. “Improvise. I'm sure a soldier in the grand Akielon army can --” Damen smashed a lamp. Laurent stopped talking.

“You want this,” Damen said, dipping his fingers into the thick warm oil in the lamp. “Say it.”

“Stop talking.”

“You want this.” Damen pushed the thin white shirt up over Laurent's spine. He stood very close. Laurent had to feel the pressure of him through the thin courtiers trousers. “Say it.”

Laurent said, “You could kill me without breaking a sweat.”

“I'm already sweating.” Damen grabbed one of Laurent's hands from where it was tightly gripping the couch. He pressed it against his abdomen; letting him feel the heat of his body. “Say it.”

“I have bent over for you,” Laurent said. “Does that not mean the same thing in Akielos as it does in Vere?”

“You want this,” Damen said. He pressed his hard cock flush against the curve of Laurent's backside. He would feel it through the trousers. Damen just needed the sensation, needed to make his intention clear.

“Yes!” Laurent spat the word out like a curse. “Fuck me. I want it.”

Damen shoved down Laurent's trousers and the sound of tearing fabric was the loudest thing in the room. The drug was beating through his system now. He was never very good at keeping himself restrained. He had seen Laurent naked. He knew his body was as frustratingly perfect as his face, as subtly honed as his mind.

He had never even come close to imagining him like this. Bent. Willing. A curve of milky skin. Trousers in tatters. Boots still on. 

“You want this,” Damen said, again. He palmed the cleft of Laurent's backside. He circled his finger against where he wanted his cock. It seemed an impossible thing that he would even fit inside that snug opening. It was impossible that he would not see this through. 

“I don't want that,” Laurent said. “What part of fucking do you not understand?”

“The part where it hurts,” Damen said, without thinking. He continued to explore with his fingers. Laurent opened to his touch.

“Where it hurts,” Laurent repeated. “Wouldn't it please you to hurt me after what I did?”

“No.”

“What if it would please me?”

Damen crossed his fingers inside Laurent, watching for signs that it hurt, watching to see if it did would Laurent like it. 

“Aren't you aching?” Laurent asked. 

“Yes,” said Damen, and took himself in hand. He pressed the tip against Laurent. The drug made of all this easier. It made it so you didn't have to think.

The body reacts, he had said.

Laurent's body reacted by bucking back against him. “Do it,” he said. “The night is nearly over. You're my slave,” he said. “Do as I tell you.”

Damen considered prolonging the teasing. The drug had made it so preparation had been a quick thing. But to tease controlled, cruel Laurent was a heady prospect.

“You're my slave,” Laurent said, again, voice cracking. “Just – please. Please.”

Damen pushed inside. A little. He was still considerate. 

Laurent pushed back and he was all the way inside. 

It was more than Damen could ever imagined – tight like a vice, hot like a fire, and so unlikely it was overwhelming. He was inside Laurent. Inside the ice cold Prince of Vere, who had drugged him and hurt him and baffled him and who, it turned out, was not very cold at all.

He kept his body carefully still, giving Laurent a moment to adjust to his size. Giving himself a moment to retain this to memory forever. He would have this. When Laurent was himself again, when he found some new way to make him suffer, when Damen was gone back to Akielos, he would remember the sight of Laurent flushed and hard and trembling as he spread for him.

“Move,” Laurent said, and somehow he had managed to regain his haughty tone of voice.

Damen put his hands on Laurent's hips to aid that movement. After all, he had asked to be fucked.

“Don't touch me,” Laurent hissed. “I told you.”

Damen needed to touch something. He leaned forward, a little, and braced his hands either side of Laurent's on the back of the couch. They looked very rough, and very dark, beside Laurent's indoor skin. That did something to Damen's instincts. He pulled out, a little, and thrust back inside.

Laurent sighed, as if that was a relief, but that was only the start of it. Damen had decided to employ a relentless rhythm, driving in and out of Laurent with such force their bodies slapped together.

It was a good thing Laurent had such heavy, expensive furniture in his room. Most couches would not have stood the onslaught. 

Damen was relentless in his movements. He wanted it done. Want this to be over. Wanted to reach his own peak and feel Laurent clench around him as he reached his. He braced his knees, changed the angle, and Laurent's breathing hitched. His body tensed. Was he close again? Damen wasn't sure. 

Laurent was silent. He was practically non-reactive. Until his hands spread out on the back of the couch and then they were on top of Damen's, fingers entwined. The translucent skin of Laurent's wrists pressed against the hard cuffs. Damen never thought the Prince of Vere would ever touch his hands. Then again, it was like he was pinning him in place. Slender hands. Unimaginable heat, pleasure, drawing him inside again and again.

“Let me touch you,” Damen said, while the feeling built that he would not last much longer.

“Don't move your hands.”

“Touch yourself,” Damen said, bowing his body so his lips were at Laurent's ear. “Go on. It won't be me, then.”

Laurent did not respond. Damen drew out, slowly, pushed back in even slower. It was a marvel for another time that he was inside at all. Laurent drew his hand away from Damen's. He brought it between his legs and Damen heard a new sound of flesh upon flesh. Laurent touched himself slowly. Damen began to move slowly. Laurent liked that. Damen liked to give his partner, even a partner who was actually a vicious predator, exactly what they liked. It pleased him to cause pleasure.

His mouth was at Laurent's neck. His body bent and heavy over Laurent's. His cock was straining from the drug and also from the thrill of this whole encounter. There was wetness that had nothing to do with oil. 

He was not permitted to touch Laurent. He was not used to the kind of sex where hands did not freely wander. He was so full. 

Damen licked at the perspiration pooling down Laurent's neck. With his mouth open, hungry, he lay kisses against the soft skin. 

“No,” said Laurent.

“No?” asked Damen. “Should I stop?”

“Don't you dare.” Laurent pressed himself back against Damen, taking the whole length of him inside. “No,” he said, again, when Damen rolled his hips against him. “No.”

“Laurent, I will stop.” Damen had no intention of fucking someone who was saying that word. 

“Don't stop.” His voice was ragged. “Don't...no.” 

Damen continued. It was past technique, or teasing, or anything but the instinctive slide and thrust of climbing to his peak. Words came unchecked to his mouth, still breathing right on Laurent's neck.

“I won't --” He said. “It's too much. You're ...”

Laurent was saying, gasping, the Veretian word no. Damen understood it was some personal thing. No, don't fall away from the peak like he had under Damen's hand. No, don't finish yet. No, don't think about the man who is inside you and that you hate everything about him.

Damen was close. The drug, the sensation, everything was culminating and he wanted Laurent to come first. He wanted to make sure he came. Ignoring instruction, Damen brought his hand around to touch Laurent. The weight, the satin-soft texture, the dampness at the tip, it was too much. A slide, a squeeze, and he bucking uncontrolled against and into Laurent. His vision blurred, as if the room was made of some new brightness, and his body all became sensation that was centred around one place, stiff, tight, there. He felt it for himself. He felt the change in breathing, as Laurent stopped breathing, and stiffened more, twitched and said, with a voice like a dying breath, “Damianos.”

The moment Damen reached his own climax was the moment the reality of the word unstitched himself.

Still spilling, he wrenched himself away and out of Laurent and there was a burst of his seed against Laurent's back.

Damen stumbled, fumbling for his unsubstantial clothing, putting as much distance between himself and Laurent as possible. On one low table, was the knife he had forced from Laurent's hand. One of the soldiers turned housekeepers had left it there. He could not look any anything but the knife.

He certainly could not look at the Prince of Vere, still bent over, legs still open, body still trembling.

Was there any point in trying to run now?

No.

Laurent had said his name. Laurent had stressed over and over again that Damen could kill him. It felt, in this long drawn out moment, while his cock softened and his lower body still shone with oil, that Laurent was the one capable of killing.

“Did you honestly think,” Laurent began, pushing up from the back of the couch. “That I would not recognise the man who killed my brother?”

“I didn't think you would spread for the man who killed your brother.” Damen tried for Veretian vulgarity. He didn't know what he actually portrayed. Things were shifting. The way Laurent had basically recoiled when given his gift from Kastor. The intense cruelty. The conflicting tone of Laurent's attitude to him compared to, well, everyone else.

“Didn't you? Was that not my uncle's request? Bed me and report.”

“I refused.”

“Really?” Laurent gave Damen a look that scrolled from his toes to the top of his head. “You were so hot to get inside me you didn't even need the drug.”

“There was no agreement. There will be no reports,” Damen said. Laurent, coolly immodest, strode out from behind the couch. Damen kept looking at the knife. He did not look at the tattered trousers, the flushed skin, the marks he had left on Laurent's body. “I will not --” He didn't know what he was promising. Laurent disappeared behind the archway and Damen heard the drip of water, the swish of fabric. He dressed himself. There was nothing here for him to clean himself. Everything was too fine. 

Laurent emerged with his hair restored to neatness and his body covered with an embroidered dressing gown that cost more than most homes. It was not as high collared as most of his jackets. The beginnings of bruising blossomed on his neck. Damen had done that. Beneath the luxurious fabric, the tight clothing, at his most intimate place, Laurent would be tender. Damen had done that.

“Go on,” he said. “Grab the knife. See what happens after.”

Damen said, “You know who I am. You know what I did.”

“You know why it brought such joy to see you splinter at the whipping post,” Laurent said. “You know there is nothing more important to me that tearing you apart. I can endure your gauche attempts to fuck me if it furthers my cause.”

“There was no attempt,” Damen said. “You wanted it. You can probably still feel me inside.”

“I've endured worse.”

“This cause of yours,” Damen said. No more rising to Laurent's sharp-edged bait. “Is to personally destroy me?”

“No.”

“You didn't ask for me. It was my brother and your uncle.”

“I'm not like them,” Laurent said. “I planned to kill you with a crown on my head. Legitimately.”

“Would you wage war on my country do it.”

Laurent shrugged. “You invaded mine.”

“You don't want war. You don't want your uncle to keep you from your throne,” Damen said. “You must know deep down that your brother --”

“Don't you dare speak of my brother.”

“It was a fair fight. The fairest fight I've ever fought,” Damen continued. “You have to know this, Laurent.”

“Don't say my name like we're equals.”

“But we are equals,” Damen said. “Hate me all you want but do it it on equal footing. I am the Crown Prince of Akielos, usurped from my throne. You are the Crown Prince of Vere, and your cretin uncle is willing to use you as a pawn to further his power play.” He pushed away from the tapestried wall. “What did you think your uncle hoped to achieve by giving me to you?”

Laurent's eyes were glazed again, like release had not ended the effect of the drug. He did not look at Damen when he said, “Believe me, inflicting this torment is achievement enough for him. Anything else is a bonus.”

“Hatred makes you misstep. My back cost you your lands and your income,” Damen said, walking the short few steps to stand in front of Laurent. “What would another slip up cost you? If I had complied with his schemes, you would have lost your life tonight.”

“I am aware of the debt --”

“Think,” Damen said, pleading. 

“I can't!”

“He is thinking that we will tear each other apart,” Damen said. “We have thrones to reclaim, Laurent. Let us set aside our personal quarrel--”

“My brother's death is not a quarrel.” The words ground out. The truth. 

“You're right. It is fact of history between two nations. You have the same right to hate me, to avenge him, as I did to fight that battle,” Damen said. “It does not have to consume you. I have no intention of letting your uncles schemes consume me. Think,” he said again.

“You propose we form an alliance.”

“Yes,” said Damen, though idea had only been forming. Laurent's words served to bring it to life. “I will play along as your slave. We can work together to remove the threats to our thrones in Vere and Akielos.”

“I cannot help my brother's killer.”

“Are there many other people willing to help you?”

Laurent pressed his lips, those same lips that had been parted and panting just a short time ago, so close together they almost disappeared. “I still hate you,” he said.

Damen said, “I expect nothing less.” Another step. Touching distance. He could see Laurent's long eyelashes and the shadows they cast on his cheeks. “I will help you in whatever way necessary to finish this thing with your uncle. In return, you do not keep things pertaining to Akielos from me. And when the time is right, I return.”

“That's your proposal.” Flat. “You're going to be a terrible king.”

“No, I'm not,” Damen said. He would be a king who knew his limits. He had, after all, killed Laurent's beloved older brother. “I was born for it.”

“An alliance with the prince-killer.” 

“An alliance with my master,” Damen said. He offered his hand. An action between equals. A seal. A promise. That it was still slightly oiled did not occur to him until the candlelight bounced against his skin where his hand was outstretched towards Laurent.

Laurent gave him an inscrutable look. 

And took his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! um, idk what to say. i actually wrote this ages ago after reading and liking a couple of other fics that used this scenario but i wasn't brave enough to post it. (edit as someone asked on tumblr. afaik the fics were Wine and Flowers by Magisterpauvus and Release by yellowdiamonds. there might be more too? i can't remember. but those are really good)  
> i just liked the idea of Laurent giving into the drug, even though we know he wouldn't in canon)  
> Anyway I figured I would share it now for cp week. This is most likely my last fic for this week. it's been real, y'all.


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